Where I End And You Begin
by YearOfTheHarlow
Summary: It was hinted from the first episode, but what really happened between Arthur and Morgana before Merlin showed up in Camelot? The lonely, sixteen-year-old ward has a strange relationship with the arrogant, seventeen-year-old prince; a relationship that will set them on different paths; that will pave the road to Arthur's destiny, and lead Morgana to her destruction. ArMor
1. Part 1: Morgana

Someone entered the passage. Morgana heard the chinking of chainmail, but she did not raise her head from her knees. She knew who it was, and she didn't want to speak to him. It was as much his fault as Uther's. How could he stand by, watching as his father murdered an innocent child—_a child—_and say nothing?  
The footsteps paused. She heard him sigh. 'Morgana, why are you crying?'

'Go away!' she shouted in response, her eyes fixed on her knees.

For a very long moment, Arthur said nothing. Morgana felt his closeness, though, and she knew he was looking down at her. When finally he spoke, his voice was hard. 'Fine'.

She heard his footsteps march away, heard his chamber door slam shut with unnecessary force.

_Good, _Morgana thought_, if I've offended him, I'm glad. _

Some part of her acknowledged that Arthur could not have stopped his father, even if he had tried. But he _hadn't _tried.

She closed her eyes, sniffling. The image of the pale-haired girl filled her mind. She had stood there, alone and trembling, apologising through her tears, apologising over and over…

She never meant to use her magic. The poor thing couldn't control it. Did she deserve to die simply for _having_ magic?

Morgana raised her head from her knees. The corridor around her was a dimly-lit blur. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffed, and hugged her arms around her chest.

Arthur would be king one day, and he would be the one to command such punishments. She couldn't picture it—she didn't want to. It was true; she and Arthur had grown apart these last few years. He was always with his friends; young knights and noblemen, striding about the castle grounds when they weren't busy training, bragging to anyone who would listen and tormenting anyone who wouldn't. And she was always….well, alone.

Still, she cared about Arthur, as much as she hated to admit it at that moment. For many long years, he had been her friend. Beneath it all, his heart was good—or at least it _had_ been. What would happen when he became king, when his responsibilities involved assigning death sentences to eight-year-old children?

_He will change_, she answered herself. _He won't be the boy you knew._

She was leaning back against the door, chewing her lip and lost in thought, when a door creaked open further down the passage.

A figure stepped into the shadows, marching forward with a purpose. Morgana turned away as he entered the light, not wanting to look at him. Why could he not just let her be?

'Get up,' said Arthur Pendragon in his usual commanding tones.

'No.' Morgana made a show of studying the intricate carpet she was seated on, running her fingers lightly over the patterns.

'Do not test my patience, Morgana. I have something to show you.'

'Whatever it is, I don't care to see it.'

Arthur laughed drily. 'Oh, I think you will.'

Morgana finally looked up at him, observing his sly grin through narrowed eyes. 'Did you misunderstand my request to be alone? I don't want to speak to you.'

His smirk widened. 'You believe you have a choice in this matter?'

'Yes, I do. And my choice is to sit here and close my eyes and hum until you are gone.' She closed her eyes to show that she was serious.

Arthur breathed a sigh. 'I'm afraid you leave me no choice.'

Morgana's eyes fluttered open in time to see him swooping down toward her. She made a sound—partly a squeal, partly a half-formed protest that came out in a grunt— as she was lifted from the ground and slung face-first over his shoulder.

'What are you _doing?_' she yelled when the air had returned to her lungs.

'I'm enjoying this no more than you,' Arthur assured her, amusement in his voice, 'but as you refuse to cooperate—'

'_Refuse to cooperate?'_ she spluttered, upside-down and fuming. 'You cannot just _force _me to do what you want.'

'That's strange,' he said, his tone thoughtful, 'it appears I am.'

Morgana curled her hand into a fist and thumped his back, none too gently. 'Arthur Pendragon, I demand you release me. This instant!'

'You forget, Morgana, _I'm _the heir prince. I make the demands.'

Morgana let out a noise of exasperation and hit him again, this time in pure frustration. If she had not been so angry, her aggression may have shocked her. 'I hate you,' she told him, rather childishly, she knew, but she was too upset to care.

His behaviour was beyond tolerance. When had become so _arrogant_?

A sudden rush of night air made her gasp. 'Where are you taking me?' she hissed, trying to make sense of her upside down view of the world. They were under the open sky, surrounded by clusters of white stone buildings that shone like pearls beneath the moonlight.

'The lower town,' said Arthur, descending a stairwell. His shoulder pushed painfully into her stomach with each downward step.

'The lower town? What is there for me to see in the lower town?'

'Town folk.'

'Clever, Arthur,' she jeered. 'You've had your fun, now put me down.'

'Will you stop complaining if I do?'

They had reached the bottom of the stair, and Morgana could see the thatched-roof houses of the town ahead. 'Yes.'

Arthur chuckled. 'We both know that's a lie.' He paused, however, and lowered Morgana to the ground. She pulled away from him as soon as her feet made contact with the cobblestones.

Arthur raised a brow at her, a smile on the edge of his lips. Then he turned and continued walking.

Morgana hesitated. She should go back to the castle; she should leave him.

…And yet, his mysterious attitude had perked her curiosity.

_Damn it,_ she thought, hurrying to catch up with the prince.

'Are you going to tell me where we're going?' she asked, following him through moonlit streets. It was well past the market hours, and the roads and town squares where all but deserted.

'I might have,' said Arthur, 'had you not been so rude to me.'

'Rude?'

'You said you hate me.'

She laughed drily. 'You deserved it.'

Arthur swirled round, staring at her intently. Morgana very nearly collided with him.

'What happened, Morgana?' he asked. 'What changed? We used to get along.'

Morgana took a step back, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. 'What changed?' she asked. '_You_ changed.'

'I didn't.'

'You did. Ever since you surrounded yourself with those…those _fools_. And now I…well I never see you anymore.'

She looked up, meeting his blue eyes. He was studying her, his lips concealing a smile.

'What?' she snapped.

'Nothing,' said Arthur, grinning. 'It's just…I didn't realise you missed me so much.'

Morgana stared at him. 'That's not what I…,' she trailed off, groaning in frustration. 'Never mind. Are you going to show me why you dragged me down here or can I return to my chambers?'

Arthur chuckled and cocked his head to the left, gesturing for her to follow.

Lips pursed and brows frowning, she did so. _He thinks I miss him_, she mused to herself. _Of course he does. He thinks the whole world is in love with him, why would he think any different of me?_

'Here we are,' Arthur announced, stopping at the door of a rather shabby town house. Before she could ask any questions, he was rapping on the door.

A young woman answered. Her eyes widened when she saw her guests, and she shrunk slightly, bowing her head. 'Prince Arthur. I…I did not expect to see you again.'

'Nor did I expect to return,' he said, with a glance at Morgana. 'The Lady Morgana would like to see your son.'

'Or course, sire, of course.' The woman shuffled back into the house calling 'Deon! Deon!'

The prince turned to Morgana with a smile.

'What is this about, Arthur?'

He gestured ahead with his chin. Morgana turned.

The woman was returning, and with her came a young boy, half hidden behind her skirts.

Arthur crouched down and beckoned the boy closer. 'Let us see your face, Deon.'

The boy swallowed, looking apprehensive as his mother dragged him out from behind her. She raised her candle, showering her son's small face in flickering yellow light.

Morgana gasped despite herself.


	2. Part 2: Morgana

'How…?' she managed, staring at the strange symbols scarring half the boy's face. Had she not known better, she would have believed them to be ancient runes of some kind.

'It was that witch girl,' the mother said savagely. 'She cursed my boy!'

Morgana looked between the mother's angered face, and the boy's frightened one. 'Why would she do such a thing?'

'She's a _sorceress_,' said the mother, as though that explained it.

Morgana looked at the boy again. He sidestepped, trying to hide from her gaze behind his mother's wide hips.

'That will be all,' said Arthur, and Morgana felt his fingers close around her wrist. 'Thank you both. You shall not be disturbed again.' He tugged slightly, hinting for Morgana to retreat from the doorway.

She glanced at the boy once more, gave a polite nod to the mother, and followed Arthur onto the street. The door clattered shut behind them.

Lost in thought, it took Morgana a moment to notice the prince was no longer beside her. She paused, turning.

Arthur was ten paces back, arms folded, looking at her with raised brows and a satisfied smile on his lips.

There could be only one reason he would look so pleased with himself. Morgana scowled. 'Why did you take me here?' she snapped. 'Did you think I would forgive you when I saw the boy?'

Arthur's smile fell. 'The girl is clearly a danger,' he said, annoyed. 'To have such power at her age—'

'And you believe that's a good enough reason to have her _killed_?'

Arthur glowered. 'Imagine what she could become, Morgana!'

Morgana shook her head. He was just like his father. Stubborn. Unreasonable. Irrational. 'She was just a child, Arthur. She could have become anything! You condemn her on the chance she will use her magic for evil?'

'You saw what she did to that boy!'

'What if she had no control over it? What if he provoked her and it just…just came out?'

Arthur laughed mockingly. 'Magic doesn't just _happen_, Morgana. She was trained to curse.'

'What would you know of it?'

'More than you!' He unfolded his arms, his tone bitter. 'I had _thought_ this would make you feel better.'

Morgana scoffed. 'The girl's blood is on your father's conscience. Not mine.'

'He did what he had to do.'

Morgana snapped her eyes to his. 'And when you're king, Arthur? Will you hand out death sentences so indifferently?'

Arthur crossed his arms again, blue eyes hard, lips in a tight line. 'Like my father, I will do what needs to be done. Any ruler would do the same.'

'I wouldn't.' Morgana argued. 'Never. I would never condemn a child to death.'

Arthur spoke quietly, but firm. 'Then it's a blessing for Camelot that _you_ will never be my queen.'

A moment of silence followed, in which he looked at her, in which the implications of his words sunk in, and then his face softened, changing suddenly to regret. 'Morgana…'

She blinked, stung.

Arthur stepped toward her. 'I…I shouldn't have—'

Morgana didn't wait to hear what he had to say. Throat dry, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, she spun on her heel and stormed down the street.

'Morgana, wait.'

She did not look back.


	3. Part 3: Arthur

_Morgana._ Arthur scowled as he strode down the corridor to his chambers. Really, was there ever a woman more insufferable?

_No, not a woman,_ he decided, _a_ _girl_. No grown woman would take to avoiding him. That was just…well, juvenile.

Gaius claimed Morgana had missed breakfast because she was unwell. Ha! Arthur knew Morgana, and it was just like her to run and hide when things became…complicated. If she wasn't so damned emotional, if she'd given him half a moment to explain himself, she would have learnt that what he said hadn't come out quite as he intended.

Arthur swung open the doors of his chamber with unnecessary force, startling a handmaiden he had never seen before.

The girl jumped at the sight of him, falling into a curtsy while awkwardly trying to balance the pile of linen in her arms.

Arthur blinked. 'Um. Who are you?'

'My pardons, Sire.' She dumped the linen onto his bed and curtsied again. 'I'm Gwen, Lady Morgana's handmaid.'

Yes, Arthur recognised her now. She had been appointed to Morgana only a few short weeks ago. 'And you are in my chambers…why?'

'Oh. Didn't anyone tell you? Gareth is sick. I was asked to see over his duties.'

Sick again? That was just like Gareth. Arthur was certain he couldn't find a more incompetent manservant if he tried.

He raised his eyes, studying Morgana's handmaid. An idea struck him. 'I uh…I hear Lady Morgana is unwell,' he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

'Yes, Sire.' The girl nodded.

'It saddens me to hear it. Tell me, what is the cause of her illness?'

'I…do not think my Lady would like me discussing her ills, Sire.'

Arthur smiled in a way he hoped was charming. 'Come, Gwenda—'

'Gwen.'

'Gwen,' he corrected. 'Morgana and I are…' he was going to say _like brother and sister_, but that didn't feel right. 'Great friends,' he finished.

Was he imagining it, or did a flicker of annoyance cross the girl's dark eyes?

'My Lady would not like me speaking of it with you,' she said stubbornly.

Arthur straightened, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 'Has Morgana said something to you about me?'

Spots of colour appeared in the handmaid's cheeks, and she lowered her eyes.

Ahh. Now he understood her reluctance. Arthur crossed his arms. 'And what did she say, exactly?'

The girl looked up, with a quick, apologetic smile. 'I wish not to repeat it, Sire. For fear of…insulting you.'

Arthur raised a brow. 'Hmph,' he grunted, half amused. Morgana _was _always creative in her insults.

'If you wish to know how she fares, why not see her yourself?' the girl suggested. Then, as though remembering herself, she cleared her throat. 'Sorry, Sire. It's not my place to— '

'I would,' said Arthur, ignoring her apology. 'But Morgana's so… _moody_ lately. Impossible to speak to.'

The girl raised a brow at him.

'What?' he snapped.

She shook her head. 'It's nothing, Sire.'

Arthur sighed, his patience wearing thin. _Fine_, he thought. _I will_ _talk to her myself. _He turned for the door, paused, and looked at the girl over his shoulder. 'Well, if you are indeed my man…uh, womanservant for the day, you can start by scrubbing my boots. Then, my sword needs sharpening, my armour needs polishing, and the floor needs to be swept.' He flashed a parting smile and strode through the doors.

Arthur spent a few long moments hovering outside Morgana's door; debating whether he should knock or simply charge in. If she knew he stood outside her door, would she admit him?

Probably not.

With this thought in mind, Arthur pushed open the doors and entered the room unannounced, ready to reveal Morgana for the liar she was.

But the damned chamber was empty.

Arthur looked around, cursing. The room was not as he remembered. Furniture had been rearranged, with a few additions entirely new to him.

_How long has it been since I was last here?_ he wondered. Even her bed hangings were different, pale instead of—

It was then Arthur realised Morgana _was _in the room, buried so deeply beneath her quilts she had slipped his notice. She was asleep. Arthur leaned forward, examining the side of her face that remained uncovered. He was annoyed to find that she did, indeed, look unwell. Her skin was even paler than usual, and dark circles rimmed her closed eyes. She looked…exhausted.

Arthur sighed, sitting in a chair pulled up by the bed. He wondered if Gaius had occupied the seat to examine Morgana that morning, or perhaps Gwenda had dragged it over, to keep an eye on her sleeping Lady. The girl did appear painstakingly loyal to Morgana. Arthur supposed that was a good thing. Morgana needed another woman to talk to. Even if she was just a servant.

Watching her sleep, Arthur felt a familiar feeling stir in his gut. He supposed it must be guilt. 'You always knew how to make me feel a fool of myself,' he told her sleeping form.

Then, all at once, Morgana woke. Screaming.


	4. Part 4: Morgana

The brightness was too much. Morgana blinked, her heart hammering. A shrill sound that seemed to be emitting from her throat died as it reached her lips, and she blinked again.

Awareness returned. Morgana began to understand the startling whiteness to be daylight, and the softness beneath her to be a mattress. She was sitting, she knew, in her own bed.

And yet, the nightmare was still before her. She could see the faces, even as she gazed at the stained glass of her bedroom window. They were with her, the dead, watching her movements with unseeing eyes, and she could see herself, too, across the field—

'Morgana?'

Like a breaking spell, the threads of her nightmare snapped and fell apart at the sound of her name. Morgana turned, startled, and found a white-faced Arthur standing a safe distance from her bed. A chair lay toppled on the floor in front of him.

'You were screaming,' he breathed, his blue eyes wide.

'I…I was?' Morgana remembered a sound reverberating through her as she woke, but she hadn't thought it was screaming. In her dream…_No, no, I mustn't think of that._

Arthur's eyes took the shape of concern. 'I'll get Gaius.' He turned for the door.

'No!' Morgana shouted. The last thing she wanted was the physician questioning her. He would ask what she had dreamed. 'No, Arthur. I'm fine. Really.'

The prince did not look convinced. 'You were trembling,' he told her, 'when you woke. You shouldn't be left alone.'

They looked at each other a moment, silent. _I'm not alone_, Morgana thought, and she guessed the same conclusion passed through Arthur's mind, for he looked suddenly to the floor, avoiding her eye and running a hand through his golden hair.

_He doesn't want to stay with me_, Morgana thought. _I frightened him. He thinks I'm mad._

After a moment, the prince raised his eyes again, looking at her sidelong, fingers still tangled in his hair. Then, with a sigh, he dropped his arm and strode forward two paces, pulling the chair upright. He dragged it to her bedside and sat down. Arthur seem to hesitate a moment, and then he surprised her by reaching across the mattress and taking her fingers in his own.

It felt a long time since someone had extended her such affections. Morgana swallowed.

She looked up, and blue eyes met hers. 'Tell me what you saw,' he whispered. Never a question, always a demand.

_I can't tell you,_ Morgana thought_, you wouldn't understand. If you knew…_

Morgana shook her head. 'I don't want to…remember it.'

Arthur shifted to the edge of the chair, leaning closer. 'Morgana,' he insisted. 'There was a time when we never kept secrets from one another.'

'Yes,' she responded stonily. 'But much has changed.' She looked up to see his brows pull together, and something that looked like hurt flickered across his eyes, quick enough that she couldn't be certain. Morgana blinked. _Perhaps he is still capable of feelings, after all._ She felt guilty despite herself. 'Arthur…it was just a dream. Better left unspoken.'

'I seem to remember being forced into telling _you _a certain dream, once.'

Morgana smiled half-heartedly. 'The one where the dragon beneath Camelot snuck into the castle and ate everyone while they slept?' Arthur had been terrified of sleeping for a week. 'That's different. That was a long time ago.' _A lifetime ago, it seems._

'You told me it would feel less real if I spoke of it aloud,' he insisted.

_This is different, Arthur. You don't understand._

'You owe me a nightmare, Morgana.' The determination in his eyes made her certain he wasn't going to leave without some kind of explanation.

Morgana took a steadying breath, wondering how she could tell her nightmare in a way that was true enough as not to lie to him, and fabricated enough that Arthur would still look at her with smiles when she was done.

_I shouldn't care for his smiles,_ she thought, remembering his words from the previous night. She had gained little sleep because of those words, and when she woke that morning, she had looked so poorly that Gwen had fetched Gaius to examine her.

Still, she found it hard to be angry with Arthur while he sat gazing at her with soft blue eyes, his long-fingered hand clasping her own.

_Curse you, Arthur Pendragon,_ she thought, her resolve breaking. _You will be my undoing, I swear it._

Morgana looked away as she spoke. 'I dreamed of sightless eyes on pale faces,' she said quietly. 'Thousands. _Thousands_. They were young men, as young as you and I. Younger, some. And I…I didn't understand why they didn't see as I saw, why they couldn't rise to stand, as I stood. It made no sense. None so young should lie so still.' She turned, looking at Arthur, her voice very quiet. 'I alone was living.'

The prince had a crease between his brows as his eyes searched hers. He had leaned closer, perhaps to better hear her soft voice, and now he was uncomfortable close, his nose almost touching her own. Arthur didn't seem to notice, though. When he spoke, she felt the light touch of his breath on her lips. 'It was a dream,' he whispered.

_It didn't feel like a dream,_ thought Morgana. She had left unsaid the worst parts; the cloaks of Camelot crimson that were pinned to the shoulders of the dead, and that she had seen herself standing at the end of the field, wild hair unbound, lips parted in a smile. There was joy in that smile, and something…more. Something that prickled Morgana's skin to remember.

Arthur drew back and released her hand, as though suddenly aware he was close enough to kiss her. He cleared his throat. 'I uh…I should tell you that what I said last night—It didn't come out as I intended.' He stood from the chair and began to pace the room, avoiding her eyes. He looked uncomfortable.

_A rare sight_, Morgana reflected. Had it not been for the haunting dream still swimming in her mind, she may have been amused enough to smile.

'You see…years ago,' he started to explain; 'I asked my father if he intended you as my wife. I thought he would want that. I mean, what girl could we trust more than you? But my father was livid with the idea. He said I shouldn't think of you as anything more than a friend.' Arthur looked at her with a crooked smile. 'He was very protective of you.'

Morgana didn't know if she ought to be warmed or offended. 'I don't quite understand,' she admitted.

Arthur shrugged, pausing by the window and folding his arms. 'I suppose my father doesn't want to imagine you in any man's arms, even mine.' He smiled again. 'I fear for the poor soul who wins your heart, Morgana.'

Morgana blinked, surprised. She wouldn't have expected Uther to react so defensively, particularly in response to his own son.

'He told me that my marriage would serve a purpose,' Arthur continued. 'My wife would be from a foreign kingdom, he said, and our union would bring Camelot another ally.' He glanced at Morgana briefly, and then away again. 'So, it couldn't be you.'

'And it's a blessing for Camelot,' Morgana repeated icily.

Arthur frowned, looking at the floor. 'I didn't mean that.'

_Then look at me when you say it, _thought Morgana. But apparently his apology was over. If it could be called an apology at all.

Arthur cleared his throat. 'I hope you will be well enough to attend my birthday feast the night after next,' he said, his voice returning abruptly to a conversational tone.

Morgana nodded.

Arthur glanced at the door. 'Are you sure you don't want me to find Gaius?'

'No, Gwen will be returning soon.'

'If I see her, I'll tell her to be quick about it,' he promised, turning on his heel.

Morgana watched him leave, a muted sigh on her lips. Why was it, whenever Arthur Pendragon walked away, he left her feeling so alone?

It made no sense.

Or maybe it did.

It was not something Morgana was prepared to understand at that moment.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she lay her head down, closed her eyes, and prayed for dreamless sleep.

If Arthur's birthday feast was to be anything like the previous year, she was sure to need it.


	5. Part 5: Morgana

Morgana sat at the king's high table upon the dais, watching with a smirk as Lady Erlyn attempted to charm Arthur Pendragon on the floor below.

The prince had a frustrated look about him, holding out his chalice to a passing servant for a third refill of wine. _Does he hope drinking will drown out her voice?_ Morgana wondered, grateful for her superb position on the dais, perfect for spectating Arthur's discomfort.

Uther's Great Hall was bathed in candlelight and adorned with red and gold draperies; honouring the eighteenth birthday of Camelot's future king. Arthur himself had donned the scarlet cloak of Camelot, his golden prince's crown nestled in his fair hair.

As though feeling her eyes on him, the prince glanced up at Morgana. Not for the first time, he gave her a look that demanded she intervene, demanded she find some way to rid him of chatty Lady Erlyn. Morgana simply grinned at him, again.

This did not improve Arthur's temper. Scowling, the prince drowned his cup and looked about for another servant. It happened that Gwen was nearest. Morgana noted the hostile look in her maidservants eyes as Arthur snapped his fingers at her. She felt a strange surge of pride as she watched Gwen thread her way through drunken lords and flirting ladies to fill the prince's chalice. It was refreshing to see a woman look at Arthur with anything less than desire and admiration. And amusing. It was all _very_ amusing. The night was turning out better than Morgana dared to hope.

Lady Erlyn was bobbing to the festive music as she spoke to the prince, shooting longing glances at the dancing couples. She gave Arthur a suggestive look that he ignored, his blue eyes returning to Morgana, this time showing signs of desperation. When she ignored him again, the prince downed his cup in one gulp, looking at her deliberately, as though she would be to blame if he got drunk enough to make a fool of himself on his own birthday.

_I should let him make a fool of himself,_ Morgana thought. Yet, she found herself scraping back her chair. It _was _his birthday, after all.

Lady Morgana made her way on to the floor, smiling and greeting those she passed with the grace and courtesy expected of her. They smiled back, all charming, all but Arthur, who watched her approach with narrowed eyes. _Well then_, thought Morgana, _I'll just leave you with the lovely Lady Erlyn_. She gave him a broad smile as she strode passed, but Arthur caught her by the wrist before she could escape.

'Morgana,' he said, feigning surprise, 'I've hardly seen you this eve. Where _have_ you been?'  
The sarcasm was lost on poor Lady Erlyn, a girl just shy of fourteen. She pushed her unruly blonde curls behind her ear and greeted Morgana with a curtsy. 'Lady Morgana.'

'Lady Erlyn,' Morgana returned.

'I was just telling Arthur about my gown. Father had it made especially for the prince's birthday.' Erlyn glanced down, fingering the intricate lace and pearl bodice of her gown. 'The pearls come all the way from the Western Isles. Father says it is a gown fit for a queen.' She grinned up at Arthur, who looked determinedly away, candlelight gleaming on his golden crown.

'Well, it _is_ lovely.' said Morgana. 'Isn't it lovely, Arthur?'

'Very lovely,' Arthur said through clenched teeth. 'Morgana, you look dreadful. It must be your illness. Shall I escort you to your quarters?'

Morgana raised a brow at him. 'Strange. I feel just fine.'

Arthur shook his head. 'You look…pale.'

'I think she looks fine,' Lady Erlyn put in.

'Well, she's not fine.' Arthur said irritably. 'Come, Morgana.' He took her by the wrist, but Morgana pulled away.

'Your concern is touching, my prince, but I'm quite capable of escorting myself to my quarters.'

'No you're not.' Arthur said quickly, his eyes intent on hers. 'You might….might faint again. _Remember?_'

'Faint?' Lady Erlyn asked, surprised.

Arthur nodded gravely. 'Morgana's illness has made her terribly weak. It will pass soon, I'm sure, but for now…well, I would not be doing my duty if I let her return alone. You understand, Lady Erlyn?'

'Of course.' Lady Erlyn said, crestfallen.

And like that, Arthur was marching Morgana through crowds of guests and servants, around tables laden with cheese and fruits and tarts, and into the deserted passageway without.

'That was a poor excuse for an escape, Arthur.' Morgana teased when they were alone. 'Even for you.'

Arthur shook his head. 'She was talking about that damn gown for half an hour! I mean, really, what do _I _care about gowns?'

Morgana looked at his irritated face and laughed.

'Go on then.' he said, looking at her sideways. 'Make fun. I haven't seen you laugh in months. I should have known that when I did, it would be at my expense.'

'Naturally,' Morgana grinned. The sound of music and chatter grew dim as they rounded a corner, their footsteps echoing in the silence.

'Just so you know,' Arthur told her when they reached the bottom of the eastern stair, 'if you _do_ faint, I'm going to leave you where you fall.'

'And neglect your_ duty_?' asked Morgana, climbing the stair a step ahead of him. She felt strangely merry. How much wine had she consumed, sitting up on the dais in her observant seat?

'Precisely,' the prince nodded, looking rather merry himself.

They mounted the third landing and were halfway down the passage to Morgana's chamber when, all at once, she let out a long, airy sigh, falling deliberately backwards.

Arthur's long arms reacted quicker than she would have guessed. She had little more than leaned back when he caught her about the waist, steadying her. Morgana laughed, tilting her head back to look at him, the top of her head resting on his shoulder. 'If you are one thing, Arthur Pendragon, it's _dutiful_.'

The prince looked down at her, his expression perplexed for half a second, and then amused, and then calculating.

'What?' she asked, head still flexed back.

Arthur shook his head. 'You're…different tonight,' he observed.

Morgana was about to blame the wine, but then she noticed something in his eyes, something she didn't quite understand. Something that made her heart stutter.

Her smile fell from her lips, and she simply looked at him. And him at her. For a long, hard moment.

And then Arthur helped her upright, patted her shoulder in a friendly manner, and continued down the hall as though the moment hadn't passed between them.

Maybe it hadn't. Maybe Morgana had imagined it. Maybe the wine was effecting her more than she realised.

But then, why did she feel with such certainty that something had just changed?

'Is Gwenda still at the banquet?' Arthur asked, reaching Morgana's door.

Morgana nodded, forcing her feet to follow him. _I imagined it,_ she told herself. _It was nothing._

'Good,' said Arthur, turning the handle and waltzing into her chamber.

Morgana froze at the door. 'What are you doing?' she asked, watching as the prince marched to her bed and flopped onto the quilts with a lazy sigh. 'Aren't you going to go back to your guests?

'Back to Lady Erlyn? No, I think not.' He smiled and beckoned her inside.

_There _was_ something different, _Morgana realised, stepping into her room and closing the door behind her. _Something in his eyes. _

It still wasn't clear to her just what it had been; but she knew one thing for certain: Arthur Pendragon had never looked at her that way before.


End file.
